The First Day of Middle School

The Place Where Promises Aren’t Kept [Chapter 2]

Just as I was afraid of, those final two weeks of summer went by faster than my Rune Quest money while buying up a new set of fancy armor. My mom was happy to find the new computer actually serving a purpose other than just gaming. The fresh, untouched printer that had come with the whole setup spat out my school schedule. In those next few nights, I was made to look over it so I could memorize where and when all of my classes were. Fast forward a few days, and the term ‘school night’ was dug up from the depths of my parent’s vocabulary. I found myself under the covers of my bed before it even felt like it was properly dark.

I guess the saving grace of that first week was that it started on a Tuesday. That meant only four consecutive days of trying to hold it together as a member of the real world. Back then, I imagined the Monday before the first day, all the teachers got together to drink coffee and talk about all the fun they had during their summers, and what sort of goofy things they would do that next day to break the ice with their new students. Knowing what I know now, they were absolutely all running around making endless copies of informational packets and putting up fancy, pristine-looking decorations to make it seem like the new year was all going to go to plan.

Regardless of what actually was going on, I couldn’t have been less prepared. I remember looking at my class printout in the car as my mom drove me to school that first day. I did not have it memorized. In fact, every time I looked at it, it seemed like all the names and room numbers had changed. At least I wasn’t on the bus that first morning. My mom decided to spare me that just for that day.

I didn’t know what was in my backpack to make it as heavy as it was. It was a physical task on its own to get it out of the back seat and hang it across my shoulders. The ordeal itself there in the drop-off area nearly made me forget to wave back and shout ‘goodbye’ to my mom as she left me in the dust to go do something probably a lot less stressful. She might have taken that as me being eager to begin the school year, but that was quite the opposite.

I had visited the campus of Northview Middle School plenty before— my sister had done her three years here, taking every opportunity to have my parents and me attend her basketball games or her talent show performances, even something called a ‘school dance.’ Of course, I had also heard a fair share of stories and other points of interest from Jakey who had a good two years under his belt. He wasn’t there of course that morning, being stuck taking the bus with all the other kids.

Speaking of other kids, I was soon in the stampede of them moving about the quad. If there was one skill that I had taken with me to the real world from Rune Quest, it was how to read a map. The one I had printed out along with my class schedule was tiny and didn’t fare well on the cheap printer, but I had studied the dark, crinkled writing enough to decipher it. Clearly, the wide concrete area where I had found myself was this quad. Even filled to the brim with other people, like the day of an online event in-game, it was unmistakable. In every direction outward from this central area were the buildings and rooms where my classes were to be held.

The one thing that I could trust and count on was the bell— and it rang, telling me exactly what to do, but unfortunately, not how to do it. My first class was in room E14— Carpenter was the teacher’s name. Was it a Mr. Carpenter or a Mrs. Carpenter? Ms. maybe? The paper was no help in that regard. Whoever they were, they were going to teach me Literature and Language Arts that year. I hoped, whoever they were, they were going to be kind enough to excuse the frazzled sixth-grader who had suddenly forgotten the order of the alphabet on their way to seek out the correct building.

With enough staring at my paper map and speed-walking against the tide of other students, I was just barely able to make it to each of my classes that day. In most of them, we played some sort of name game or danced around the tables greeting each other in silly ways to learn each other’s names. Apart from a few people I had gone to elementary school with, none of the names stuck with me. I did learn that Mrs. Carpenter was Mrs. Carpenter, that there are a lot more men teachers in Middle School, and that PE is its own class that is held in the gym itself with a group of kids about three times the size of any other. Even my heavy backpack didn’t seem so bad after the fifth time hefting it to another classroom halfway across the campus. Actually, my sore shoulders after lunchtime told me that last part was a lie.

Have you ever been to a friend’s house and not know any of the rules with their parents, so you just don’t touch anything, or try anything that might seem out of line? I had that feeling once during a birthday party of a classmate who I didn’t know too well. I was so cautious that I had no fun and avoided most birthday parties after that. Well, I bring that up because a brand-new school coincidentally makes you feel the same way. Well, I didn’t dare try anything that would put me on anyone’s bad side. I walked in the halls and the quad, I followed everyone to the cafeteria to eat, and I slowly and carefully ate right up until the moment that the bell rang for recess. I didn’t even see Jakey that day, but if I did, I might have avoided him entirely in the case that sixth and eighth graders were unable to mingle.

You know what, though? The rush of moving from class to class every hour on the hour, trying to pack in every last detail of the teachers’ tips and tricks, all while trying to not leave any belongings behind, it makes the day go by really quick.

When the last bell of the day finally rang, (and believe me I was watching the clock in my math teacher’s room pretty hard), you know I had one thing on my mind. My mom was waiting in the pickup zone as she had promised that morning, flashing a smile at me as I jumped in the passenger seat. “Good day?”

“Yeah,” I said, deflating, letting out a breath I felt like I had been holding all day.

While we were on the way to the high school to pick up my sister, I tried to remember where I had left my character when I had logged out from Rune Quest the day before. I had been ready to jump on another skill grind. That means working at the same thing over and over to build up one particular skill and hopefully get myself to the next level.

My mom had the same set of questions for my sister about her school day, taking the pressure off me and allowing me to daydream more about chopping down trees and making campfires out of them. When we returned home, I didn’t even bother to sling my backpack fully over my shoulders. It, and all its heavy contents, were left right beside the door as I went back to boot up the computer and connect to the internet while I used the bathroom and got a snack.

I was met with my mom’s pleading call from across the ground floor before I even had the chance to take the first step. “Mike, don’t just get on that computer.”

“Huh? Why not?” I had heard that sort of direction plenty before. It usually meant more talking while I listened without a word. I always talked back regardless, hoping for once to get a proper answer in return.

My mom poked her head out of the living room entrance. “Your dad will be home a bit early. I decided I didn’t want to cook tonight— I woke up wayyyy too early to make sure both you and your sister got to school on time. Tomorrow’s the bus, yeah? So anyway, I talked your dad into having us go out for dinner. And why not, to celebrate the first day of school?”

I planted my feet on the carpet and groaned at the thought of losing more of my time. “Can’t we just get pizza or something?”

Jess interrupted my stewing there in the hall on her way to her room upstairs. “C’mon Mikey. Leave the darn computer alone for one day. Mom, can we go to The Italian Garden?”

“You’ll have to talk to Mike and your dad and see if that’s okay with them. I’m fine with anything.”

Jess glanced down at me from the top of the stairs. “Let me guess, Round Robin? You know, instead, if you really want pizza, Italian Garden has their own.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know Dad never lets us order a pizza there unless it’s to share with someone else. And nobody ever wants to share.”

My sister laughed. “Dad would love to share, he just wants anchovies on his, blech.” With her fake vomiting sounds, she disappeared up the stairs. I gave up on my hopes of catching up on my adventures. Instead, I ended up dragging myself and my backpack up the stairs to see about unloading my real-life inventory, if just a bit.

<– Previous Chapter | Next Chapter –>

The Summer to Start it All

The Place Where Promises Aren’t Kept [Chapter 1]

It was the summer of 2002, and eleven-year-old me was spending it the best way I knew possible: playing video games. Well, one specific video game. And it wasn’t just any ordinary video game either; it was one of endless adventures known only as Rune Quest. You see, Rune Quest was a massively multiplayer online role-playing game, an MMORPG for short. Compared to the fancy games you see these days, Rune Quest would look like a pile of garbage and pixels. But through my eyes at the time, there was nothing better. I mean, you could play online with anyone, anywhere, at any time, leveling up your character to be the best they could be.

Well, at the time, my character was hardly more powerful than your average goblin, and the only person I played with was my friend Jakey, but even just those little challenges were enough to keep me going. With every free second I was allowed, I found myself on the game, blissfully making my character better and stronger with each feat accomplished. That is, until my fun was shattered in one single blow. I was spending the afternoon mining iron and chatting with Jakey in-game when the conversation took a sudden turn for the worse.

MakeMeJake88: oh yeah

MakeMeJake88: did u get ur class schedule yet?

MakeMeJake88: like to see who ur teachers r going to b and stuff?

The topic was school, and it was looming so close in the distance. Jakey had betrayed me by bringing that up. That summer had gone by so fast. Most of the time I was completely unaware of what day it was, let alone what month. I knew it had to come sooner or later, but certainly not this soon. The hints of school coming closer had even been there, and yet it had been so easy to miss them.

In the past few weeks, my mom had gone clothes shopping several times with my older sister, Jess. Their shopping trips were always longer than any trips with me involved, and they always ended up with piles of clothes too. Somehow, though, my mom always returned with clothes for me as well. Looking back, hose clothes were definitely for the new school year.

My mom had bought me more polo shirts. They’re the ones with short sleeves, but also a collar and a few buttons. I think they’re supposed to look nice, but they just end up being hotter and more uncomfortable than a regular t-shirt. Plus, t-shirts are better because they’re the only type of clothes that are acceptable to have cool designs on them. Like superheroes or goofy sayings telling other people to leave you alone.

I’m sure there were other signs that the school year was coming up, too. Right, the few times I did end up shopping with my mom, the basket ended up with a stray pack of pencils or a couple of cheap lined notebooks. Do you know who needs exactly those types of supplies? Someone cursed to be heading back to school.

How much time remained of my relaxed summer, I wondered. I had no idea when the first day of school was, and even the calendar built-in to the corner of the computer screen was no help. Since Jakey asked the question, he must have known. He was older, after all, and headed off to the eighth grade. He pretty much knew everything there was to know about middle school. I typed my response to him finally.

IcyMike203: no…

IcyMike203: i should ask my mom 2 see

IcyMike203: uh when is it

IcyMike203: the first day?

MakeMeJake88: uh…

MakeMeJake88: next next tues

Two weeks, I sighed to myself. I had probably just enough time to level up enough to finish mining iron and move on to coal. Would I have enough time to start learning how to take that iron and coal and turn it into steel? The sudden time restraints hit me like a troll with a great hammer. Yes, that’s when it started, or rather, ended. My carefree virtual role-playing was soon to be replaced by a massive dose of the real world.

But wait, it still isn’t too late to remember how great that summer had been and how it turned out like that. The story actually starts back near the end of fifth grade, with my parents having one of their talks. Their talks were one of those things that I was supposed to be a part of, but most of the time, it was just them going back and forth between each other, deciding what was best for me regardless of anything I said. Luckily, this was one of the few times where it actually turned out in my favor.

“So Mike,” my dad started up in his fake playful tone after the whole family had sat down at the table to eat. “Your mom and I were talking about you starting up middle school next year.”

At the time, I couldn’t help but wonder if my grades were suddenly failing. Maybe my parents were just about to announce that were going to move just like my friend Sal had done earlier in the year. I tapped at the overcooked broccoli on my plate, something more appetizing than whatever I thought was going to come up at any moment.

My mom butted in before my dad could continue. “It’s been your dad mostly wondering about this.”

“But you agree too, Leah,” my dad said back. “Jr. High is a big step, Mike, as your sister can tell you. There’s a lot more work than elementary. And everything is getting high-tech.”

“Yeah, and they’ll teach him all that tech stuff in class,” my mom added, holding off on her first bite still.

My dad shrugged and started chewing a mouthful of chicken, barely pausing before he continued. “The neighbor’s daughter, two doors down, she applied for college last month. She had to write an application essay on the computer. Typed and printed off and sent to the school all fancy like. That’s how the registration offices want them now. They won’t accept anything written by hand. The girl’s probably sent more emails to various colleges than I have to my coworkers this entire year.”

“That’s college,” my mom said back.

My dad shrugged. “And you think young people just know how to write emails like that? I had to teach one of the older guys at my job how to make that little symbol that looks like the letter ‘a’ with a circle around it so he could send an email to another branch.”

My sister, Jess, was already ready with a remark. “That sounds like an old person’s problem. Mikey’s been on your laptop so many times, he could figure out how to write twice as many emails to twice as many colleges as the neighbor. And get into at least half of them.”

My sister was older and pretty nice. I guess she was kind of popular too, but I didn’t pay much attention to her friends and stuff. It was nice that she had my back.

“Well, yeah,” my dad sighed. “Which is all the more reason to get him a computer of his own, and get him off of mine. And it isn’t just emails, either, yeah? Jess, how many essays have you had to type up?”

Jess tilted her head back and forth. “I dunno, like one or two. But the teacher brought us to the computer lab to do them.”

My dad groaned and tapped away at his plate with a fork waiting to impale more food. “Well, work like that is going to end up coming home with you next year, high school is a whole different animal.”

My mom sighed and lazily stirred up her plate of food. “I guess we have to be like every other family in America and get our own big computer to take up half the room.”

“If Mikey gets a whole big computer, I should at least get a phone,” Jess begged.

My mom rolled her eyes. “We’ve already talked about this. You’ll get a phone when you start driving, and you won’t start driving until you turn eighteen; the school bus will be good enough for you until then. That’s how me and your dad did it when we were your age. And if we do get a computer, it will be a family computer, not just Mike’s.”

If you want a spoiler to a completely different story than this one, my sister did end up getting a phone before she started driving. If I recall correctly, her friends got their own licenses. Then Jess started getting driven everywhere, and my parents wanted to keep in touch. But we need to get back to my story about the computer here.

Even if it wasn’t decided by the end of dinner that night, sometime in that next month my parents finally reached a middle ground. About buying that brand new computer that would lead me to the next chapter in my life. I still remember the trip to the big box store. The excited salesperson told us about all the details of the best computers there, trying to get us to spend the most amount of money. Not an hour later, we were loading up our cart with the heavy collection of devices that would become the center of my attention for the next few months.

I remember checking out and seeing the register showing off a dollar amount in the four-digit range, a total I would have never imagined seeing. My heart sank for a moment there, but my dad offered his credit card with hardly a second look. Looking back, he might have been as excited about the new toys as I was.

Computers back then were a lot different than the ones you see today. The word I might use is… bulky. There was the screen, not anything flat and slim like a monitor today. Instead, it was a big cube called a CRT, which was even heavier than it looked. Certainly more than my skinny arms could manage to lift. The main, equally heavy, part was the tower, also referred to as the CPU by some, to which everything connected. Included in the whole deal was a mouse and keyboard like you’re probably used to, but also a printer for getting out those school essays that my dad was so focused on.

I would have loved to have the computer set up in my room for all my uses. Alas, I was forced to settle with it living down on the ground floor of our house in the den, at the back of the house where the second TV also lived. Now, if you’re following along with the story thus far, the computer itself was only one half of the equation that led to the most excellent summer. The final thing required to lead me to the virtual world of Rune Quest was, of course, the internet.

Even more different than computers back then, the internet itself was both more basic and somehow also more complicated. For the average person living in an average home on an average street, the internet came through the phone line. You may have heard this called ‘dial-up.’ In fact, dialing up is exactly what happened, except that it was your computer taking over the phone lines to dial some sort of number or code that would bring the World Wide Web to your computer screen.

Getting on the internet like this took forever, it was slow, and on top of it all, the process involved your computer making a series of sounds like a dying robot screaming its last digital words. It wasn’t even possible to mute these sounds as they came directly from some deep depths of your computer. To this day, I don’t know why these sounds were necessary for the process, but at least it was something to listen to while you waited for your homepage to load up for you.

Another unfortunate part of this whole internet business? Well, it wasn’t unfortunate for me, but my mom and sister both had their issues with it— dialing up the internet on your computer made the phone line busy. This meant no calls in and no calls out. And no, cell phones hadn’t quite reached enough people to fix that problem either. I can promise you, though, that my desire to explore the web wasn’t stopped by this little holdup.

Looking back, it was the perfect storm of things going my way. You see, up until that point, my mom had worked from home. While also being a stay-at-home mom, she had run a business of sorts over the phone, calling up people and selling sets of encyclopedias. I hate to think it was the internet itself that made selling heavy, inconvenient sets of books pointless, but it absolutely was the fault of the internet. Well, to run that business, a second phone line had been installed in our home. Instead of ditching that when my mom started up a normal job, well, it stuck around, eventually becoming the line allowing our new computer a pathway to the internet.

The story of getting into Rune Quest is much more simple. Jakey, my older friend from a few blocks over, had shown it to me several months before getting the new computer at my house. He already had his own computer and internet situation figured out and was happy to show me the wonders of the virtual world. Unfortunately, you can only spend so long at a friend’s house before their parents beg you to return from whence you came. Well, you can easily guess the first thing I did when I had my own PC and internet connection all to myself.

Next Chapter –>

It’s Finally Here!

The Color of Houm Book 3: Skies of Gray

As the skies of Houm darken with volcanic ash from the eruption of Mt. Triste, the Houman people face the uncertainty of what is to come, reliving a decades-old calamity. While some are threatened by these forces, others formulate their agendas and ambitions for how to take advantage of the crisis. After the burning of the white flags of détente, the conflict reaches a point of no return. The Final Chapter in The Color of Houm series: Skies of Gray.

The planet Houm finds itself facing the forces of the planet once more. During the previous age of ash, the Nest Corporation had come across the system and became the conservator of its people. After facing and settling the unrest in Houmil and in the lunar city of Akresh, the Corporation pivots to serving the native population in their time of need.

The show of force by the locals of Hrrent shoved off the corporate hold over the city. With it came the city’s vital infrastructure, putting a target on those leading the revolt. The ousted Security official, Corbin Skye, allies himself with the enigmatic Niyas, a forerunner of the Sanguine Tears. With the experience of both men to guide them forward, they vow to employ all of their resources to seek out further debasement of the corporation.

The Council of Houm, made up of the territorial leaders of the planet, find themselves once more at Nest’s doorstep. Facing the volcanic fallout upon their people, they are forced to negotiate with each other and the corporate powers in an attempt to contain the situation at hand. Zelda Pashek, governor of the territory bordering the volcanic barrens, finds herself stuck between helping her people and concealing the connection to her nefarious allies.

Orbiting the planet in Nest’s flagship, Veema Binnek takes the stage to speak out against the Sanguine Tears in Nest’s official news broadcasts. In exchange for speaking these words, she is promised the safety of the child still growing inside her. As questionable information spreads across the system, Veema’s old allies down in Akresh realize that the power of propaganda is also within their grasp. It is only a matter of time before it takes hold and those across Kaydal demand for the truth to come out.

If you haven’t read books one and two, you can get the ebooks free until Friday! 

Seeing Red * White Flag Burning

Is this all you’ve been doing, Mr. Author?

This book took longer than I expected. Yes, Elden Ring is a good part of the blame. And Monster Hunter. And… well, let’s leave it at that. Regardless, this is the longest book I’ve ever written at 80K words/nearly 300 pages. And it had to be that long, to give the trilogy a fitting end. Get the Ebook this Friday, or wait for the paperback some time this month.

What else is new?

I wish I could have written more of Cycles Go ‘Round. Then NaNoWriMo hit last November. But is is a serial, which means it could come back at any time. It never has to even end! 

But what happened during NaNoWriMo? Well, I tried writing a book in a style and for an audience I hadn’t considered before. And I’d say it came out pretty well. I hope to start posting chapters from it this month as well. Look forward to: The Place Where Promises Aren’t Kept.

And on top of that, I have a pile of fresh ideas to be turned into even more stories. Keep an eye out! 

-Sandwich Sean

The Race

Cycles Go ‘Round [Chapter 15]

To recap, I’ve become a spokesperson of sorts for a racer here at the Vallas Fax Grand Prix. To be honest, I didn’t know much about the planet or the race coming into this situation, but it seems to be a pretty big deal. People from all over this corner of the galaxy come to see the race which happens every local year here on the already busy planet. On the day of the race, the airways of the cities are closed off for the hundreds of participants to take to the skies, testing their craft and their piloting abilities to reach the goal before the majority of everyone else.

Plenty of companies have their own stakes in the race, be it their own pilots, the engineering expertise behind their craft, or simply that they be the flashiest showmen of their brands. Jexen, the racer I had taken under my inexperienced wing, didn’t seem to reflect any of those things, nor did he seem interested in the prize money. Alas, me backing out and betraying his unabashed excitement wasn’t something I was brave enough to do. But more than that, I was hoping at the very least that Jexen would beat Flatsin Ouht, the competitor whom my bullheaded coworker, Zach, had stolen right out from under my feet.

By some miracle, or rather the virtue of someone not looking into the situation too deeply, the company approved our coverage of the unselfish racer. Jexen’s sole sponsor, the deep pockets of his father, took no pause in wiring the deducting fee to the company’s coffers to lock in the coverage for the race.

That night, I checked into a capsule hotel a few blocks away from the convention hall, one of the last few accommodations left in the area of the race course. It wasn’t the tight walls of the capsule that made it hard to sleep— not terribly different from my ship— nor was it the loud, drunk partiers in the hallway, but rather the reality of the situation donning on me. If Jexen raced as well as he talked himself up, I could see us placing decently, but it wasn’t clear if his confidence earlier that day was simply from my timely rescue of his career.

The nightlife outside eventually ran aground on the morning light and their own hangovers, lowly grumbling and discussing greasy breakfasts before the race was to begin. Despite my lack of sleep, I got myself up and ready to brave the crowds and return to the convention center. While the VIP early birds took to the lifts and stairs to find the best seating at the starting line, I entered the bowels of the hall to seek out my racer.

The sound of revving engines and rattling power tools radiated through the cement passages of the building. I knocked at Jexen’s door but received no response, nor did I hear any work going on that would have kept him from hearing me. Daring to pull on the handle, I found it unlocked.

The curly-haired young man was leaned back on his folding bed, still in couch form, with bottles of bitter lying across his lap. I slammed the door hard, jostling him, but ultimately unable to fully wake him. I smelt the acrid odor on him as I approached. Imagining he was my callous coworker Zack, I pulled back and sent a slap across his face, wincing as my hand made contact.

Jexen jerked up, causing the bottle to topple off his lap. “Who’s there?”

“You need to be up! You should have been up… ages ago! Are you really going to race with a hangover?”

The racer snorted and kicked at the bottle at his feet. “No, don’t worry. I’m not hungover. That might happen later, but I can feel the buzz’ll get me through the race. But maybe you can get me like… a sandwich from one of those food trucks outside have been smelling real good, every time I pass them.”

I jerked back and raised my hands to his vehicle. “Do you know in many places, operating any sort of large vehicle like this under… certain influences… is illegal?”

The racer shook his head hard and swung his weight up enough to find his feet beneath him. “Well, the race don’t got any rules like that. Just gotta’ race your best. Plus, that’s why we’ve got insurance. We’ve got insurance, right?”

“You’ve got insurance,” I emphasized. “As in, if something bad happens to you— like what happened last year— you and those caught in the collateral will find yourself monetarily compensated. But me, who chose to pity you and set up that policy for you, will be completely out of a job for deciding to take on such a… careless individual.”

Jexen shrugged. “If you get fired, you can work for my pop’s company. He offered a job like that to me before I told him to shove off.”

“A nice job here on Vallas Fax? This beautiful, smoggy city where my average paycheck would get me a single flat with seven roommates and half a toilet? I think I’d rather be behind the wheel of this ship here.”

The racer blinked at me. “Can you drive fast?”

“I think anyone can drive fast, it’s the turning and stopping and general fine control that keeps qualified drivers from being meatpaste on the ground or a wall somewhere. And I hope you’ll be able to manage those things real soon.”

“Guess being a speed demon is something you have to be born as,” he sighed, sauntering to the main door, a tall metal fixture taking up most of the far wall. With a push of a button nearby, it began to open, revealing the pits and starting line just within reach. “Listen, don’t worry. I dunno about you, but my people pass alcohol real quick. A and B divisions are gonna zoom outta here. Then my group. Plenty of time!”

“No more drinks, then,” I said, planting my foot and glancing around for any signs of yet-to-be-opened bottles.

“Of course not. I do, in fact, need both hands to operate the ship.”

“That’s the reason?”

Jexen ignored me, moving alongside his racer, hand rubbing the smooth plating. “Ahh, the nice smell of booster fuel in the morning.”

“That’s not your breath?”

The racer jerked back, finger jutted at me with more focus than his thoughts. “You know… you’re a witty one. Not bad looking, either. If I win this, I wanna take you out to dinner.”

I pursed my lips and nodded. “If that’s what it takes, go gettem, tiger. I’ll be up in the sponsor’s booth, watching you hopefully not destroying anything.”

Jexen was still sauntering about his racer as I left to find the stairs. With a flash of my company ID, I was allowed into the viewing booth, a closed-off space above the garages and pits but beneath the VIP lounges and ticketed grandstands. The crowds of sponsors and other lesser-important staff were already gathered around the front of the space, hovering over tables of snacks or talking amongst each other.

The paved lift-off zone was within view through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Several sets of big screens and projectors showed other views of the course, including the lineup of racing craft with the first division. From ceiling speakers came the voice of the announcer, hyping the start of the race with the energy of a dog that had never been taken out on a walk. Through the glass came the roar of booster engines and the ravenous cries of the crowds.

With the first signal, the engines roared with a fury that sounded as if they were ready to ruin the other insurer’s bottom lines. They lifted into the air, poised in perfect balance, ready to jet forward at the appropriate sign. With a flash of holographic beacons in front of the pack, they blasted forward, leaving the platform soaking in a sea of exhaust.

I sighed and pulled myself away from the crowd, looking to replace my foregone breakfast with room-temperature hors d’oeuvres. I almost considered packing the disposable plate with more than I needed before running downstairs and shoving Jexen’s face with the food. Perhaps, I thought, it would displace enough alcohol to get his brain better in order for the race, but I also worried about him taking it as an act of affection.

“Anna!” There was a proud voice at my back. “Now, it isn’t fair for the rest of us hard-working folks if you flash your ID and sneak in, pretending that you’re on one of the racing teams.”

I swallowed a cracker before it was fully masticated, sending its jagged edges down my esophagus before I dared to turn around. “Oh, Zach— cough— I should have remembered you were going to be here.”

My tall coworker patted me heavily on my shoulder, threatening to shake my fairly-gotten snacks from the plate. “Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out. You can pretend you’re here with me. I mean, technically, you are.”

During the span of time when I was failing to fall asleep the night previous, I had come up with several lines to use on him in this very situation. “Well, you see, despite your experience in these areas, I am capable of sealing my own deals. Isn’t the company so great to give us such agency, seniority or not?”

Zach narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so another racer is running under the Cycles Go ‘Round badge this year…” His hands suddenly turned up to the air in celebration. “Another chance for us to get noticed. Our first year in the sponsor seat is already going well.”

I playfully jabbed at his stomach with my fist. “Right! And if you hadn’t usurped me, I would never had the chance to seek out a racer of my own.”

Zach nodded, brushing off his blazer where my hand had touched, and glancing back at one of the screens showing off the progress of the racers through the tall city blocks. “I think division B is coming right up. That’s the one with Flatsin. We can watch them start.”

I shoved a deviled klek egg into my mouth as I followed Zach back to the window, shoving by a few of the other onlookers. “Oh, I don’t think I caught your client’s name,” He said suddenly as I joined him. “He can’t be already off, can he?”

“It’s Jexen Van Plex,” I said with a low voice, hoping for the others around us not to hear. “Division C, so not yet.”

“Van Plex?” Zach spat, nearly recoiling away from me. I refused to look up from my plate to fully judge his reaction. “Jexen Van Plex?”

“Is there something about that name?”

“Anna, let me tell you something first. Do you know how Cycles Go ‘Round even got the chance to support this event? No? It was my footwork, my networking last year that got us this chance. And wouldn’t you know, my visit here last year also allowed me to see one of the most spectacular… and reckless… crashes of this race’s history. Van Plex’s crash. And to think that he’s even racing again!”

I hid my face further in a pile of pickled spheres of an unknown origin. “Oh, well, as long as you know the story,” I murmured.

Zach’s grunting was interrupted by the announcers hyping up the crowds for the release of the B division of racers. He placed a hand on the glass as the racers began to lift up from the starting platform. The fanfare, both outside the glass and among the more subdued sponsors around us, reached a high as the second division took off from the line. The screens overhead flashed between A division, a long way ahead, and the second group already rounding the first corner.

Zach clapped with the rest of the onlookers, his hands patting together with no more force than required. He eyed me from the corner of his vision as he plopped his hands back to his sides. “Well, I’m actually impressed, Anna. Even though you weren’t as eager as me to get down to business here, you managed to find someone who needed our services. You’re a self-starter, and I imagine the higher-ups will look positively on this, regardless of the outcome. I’ll be looking forward to how Mr. Van Plex handles himself out here. Maybe last year was just a freak accident. Here his group comes now.”

I leaned down as far as I could to the pits. The racers and their teams were pushing out their craft on rollers, save one team that was made up of a single person, their craft bearing the number 15.

“Anna?”

“Yes?”

“What number is your racer?”

“…15.”

“I see.”

The announcer coming over the loudspeaker saved me from any other questions and the low laughter of the other sponsors. “Arriving on the platform is the third and final division. For anyone new to the Vallas Fax Grand Prix, allow us to go over the division system once more. Final placements are calculated based on starting bracket in each division, and the time of the final completion of the entire course. We are just moments from the third division lifting off, with Division A about one-fifth of the way through the course. The track teams are giving the signal for liftoff, so keep your eyes peeled!”

I sucked in a sigh of relief between mouthfuls of crackers as Jexen and his ship lifted off in sync with the others. They jetted off without a hitch. Zack was focused on the screen above the window, allowing me to sneak off to try and wet my throat. Just before I could pour myself some cheap-looking wine from a tall dispenser, the announcer’s voice picked up, denoting the occurrence of something other than the regular twists and turns of the racers.

“Here we go folks, the first possible hiccup of the race! Up in division B, Number 230, Mollig Pashin and 43, Flatsin Ouht, have collided! Going off what we hear from pit crews, number 230 had a failure in the control surfaces, causing a sudden deceleration, ending up with 43 giving them a nice rear-ending! We’re seeing some superficial damage to the front of 43, but it may give way to some control issues! Both teams involved have now dropped to the lower ranks of division B, but anything is still possible!”

I found Zach, towering over most others, glancing up at the screen showing his division. “That’ll buff out, as they say, right?” I talked him up.

His arms crossed over his chest. “It’s not about winning or losing, Anna. It’s about building up the brand.”

“Of course.”

I followed the movement of the racers on screen with him for a little while, sneaking down sips of wine and more snacks. The view screens continued switching back and forth between the three divisions while the announcer hollered on like an angry mother. It didn’t take long for Zach to become more frustratedly absorbed, and for me to top up from the offerings.

I found a seat at the back of the room to distance myself from the loudspeakers. Just before reaching the bottom of my third disposable cup of wine, the bathroom called to me. Unfortunately, I found that everyone else had chosen that very time frame— between the beginning and the end of the race— to visit the same place. Luckily, I made it through the line and relieved myself just before the grand excitement had started.

I found Zach again, more lines carved into his face than before. He made the least eye contact possible to address me. “I imagine you’re feeling great right now.”

The wine answered before I had a chance to analyze the question. “Definitely.”

Zach tapped his foot. “How your racer got to the lead of Division C is beyond me. Though, I do remember him from last year being a decent driver, support crew or not.”

“Oh!” I glanced up at the screen. “Well, what about your guy?”

Zack clicked his tongue and finally turned his head my way. “Why come here today if you weren’t going to pay attention? Well, I can assume why… Ouht is getting to the back of Division B. And now we’re at the point where the racers from different divisions can start to encroach on each other. Some people consider this to be the most exciting part of the race, so you better pay attention!”

I craned my neck to look up at the collections of screens overhead, displaying the view from various cameras along the track. There were blurs of racers going by in their heavily decorated crafts, displaying sponsor decals that I had never seen before. Every once in a while, the announcer somehow found it within himself to raise the pitch of his voice even higher than normal, finding something extraordinary about the blurs tearing through the closed-off city streets.

“Lady, gentlemen, and anyone in between! We have our first proper crash of the Grand Prix!” Sirens began to flash below in the pits, followed by the whining of the emergency crews, pulling up into the air, taking a shortcut above the high-rises. “The racers in ships 403 and 120 have collided and are currently making emergency descents down to the designated landing zones! Let’s see if they are alright! Ah, yes, we’re seeing the exchange of several non-sponsor-safe hand signals! If the racers don’t get back into their craft, they will be docked additional penalties from their final times.”

Zach scoffed. “I hope those fools get dropped by their sponsors. Nobody should put up with their racers acting so unprofessional.”

I nodded heavily in hopes that he would assume my full agreement. Meanwhile, I was scanning the screens for any sign of Jexen, hopefully keeping himself together. I wasn’t sure it it was the wine or the breakneck speed, but out of all the moving pictures, I was helpless to find my racer. I folded my arms, locked my knees, and rested my eyes in hopes of finding at least some composure.

Over the chatter of the other people in the box, my hearing landed on the words ‘Division C’ and ‘Halfway point’ from the announcers. I felt the ground shaking beside me from the furious stomping of my coworker’s agitated foot. “I can’t believe this!”

My eyes flickered open. There was a sudden commotion from the rest of the crowd, even trickling in from the grandstands outside. I found the screen where Zach’s eyes were focused and listened in for the announcer’s cawing.

“We’re seeing Number 15, Jexen Van Plex from Division C, breaking through into the ranks of B! His time is unmatched so far, but veteran audience members of the Grand Prix know the local racer is known for his… nail-biting racing! And presently knee-deep in the ranks of the division B racers, he’ll want to keep his airfoils to himself!”

Zach bumped his elbow against my shoulder. “If he keeps that pace, he’s bound to set a good time. I mean, if he doesn’t fling himself out of bounds again.”

“Feel free to admit defeat, Zach,” I said, poking him back.

I imagined that was the very thing he was about to do when the announcer returned with more fervor than ever. “A big shakeup currently in action! Mollig Pashin and his number 230 craft have just seemingly succumbed to their previous damage! We’re seeing a smokescreen spewing out of the racer’s engine, looks like an overheating in progress! Seems like everyone in his wake will have to go it on sensors alone. A yellow flag has been thrown for Division B, except… hold on, I’m hearing that the fast encroaching Jexen Van Plex isn’t getting the communication about the flag! Will he consider to slow himself through the smokescreen? All eyes are on him!”

Most of the screens above us were concentrated on the end of division B and their cloud of confusion. More people were focused on the screens than ever before. For a split second, I saw the plain-looking ship enter into the smoke. I grabbed at Zach’s arm out of reflex.

“Ouch, let go!”

“We’re getting warnings on the track from several teams!” The announcer was screaming at that point as if he himself were in some sort of crash himself. “Five racers piled up! Van Plex at the center… seemingly making a controlled landing! Looks like last year’s ordeal taught him a thing or two about that sort of thing. The others… Flatsin Ouht is among others making an emergency landing. I’m hearing… fun fact, both of them are actually on the same insurance providers for this year’s race. Usually, the race commission tries to keep such conflicts from happening to avoid situations such as this, but Van Plex had just gotten his at the last moment. How I’d hate to be the boss who has to sign off on both of their claims! Not to mention the folks that came to sponsor them!”

Zach finally managed to pull himself away from my grasp, turning back to find a seat at the back of the booth. I scuttled his way, head down. “Uh, well, that’s a freak accident if there ever was one.”

“Anna,” he glanced up at me, defeat in his eyes. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

“This is… my fault, isn’t it?” I said, both voice and legs wavering.

Zach looked me up. “For the crash? No, that’s Van Plex’s fault. For sponsoring him? Perhaps, but you were just taking the initiative where you saw it. All I know is that if the company decides to take a sponsor spot for next cycle’s race, we’re going to have quite the label to overcome.”

I nodded. “That just means… it will be all the better when we do overcome it. Right?”

“Sure. Yeah. But for now, I imagine we’ll be hearing from the company any time. Before that time comes, though… is there still some of that stuff you were drinking?”

I glanced back to confirm the dispenser was still bequeathing the satiating liquid. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m gonna need some before I answer to anyone.”

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High Octane

Cycles Go ‘Round [Chapter 14]

Vallas Fax was a very rich locale, more city than planet, and the locals more vapid black holes of personality than people. Well, the taxi driver was at least a decent being. Why a taxi, you ask?

The space dock worker had laughed at me when I began to take my hoverbike down from the storage compartment of my ship. “Do you really think you’re going to get around here on that?” I think he held some general concern, but I could also sense something festering in his intention.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” I asked with extra niceness in my voice, knowing the same folks would be watching over my ship.

Another worker shrugged and glanced up at the skyways. The air above the space dock was clear but the edges of the bordering city blocks were inundated with countless flying craft, crossing each other’s paths in all vectors. “Well, depends on how well you think you’ll be able to be seen. Does it have a loud horn, maybe?’

“No horn to speak of,” I sighed and grunted, shoving the bike back up into the compartment. “What sort of public transportation is available here?”

After telling the taxi driver where my destination was, he set off, maneuvering the controlled chaos of the skyways better than I maneuver myself among the extroverts at a party on my way to the snacks. He glanced back at me through his crooked and otherwise unused rear-view mirror. “You’re traveling pretty light for the part of town you’re headed to. You aren’t involved with the race, are ya?”

I nodded and smirked, ready to talk myself up. “In fact, I am. I’m actually heading in to deal with one of the racers themselves.”

“Oh, well seems like I’ve got a big shot with me today.” His bushy eyebrows raised as he glanced back at me in the mirror again. “It wouldn’t happen to be Xander Flaxner, number 385 that you’re in with?”

I shrugged. “Oh, well I’m afraid my boss wouldn’t let me say.”

The driver tapped on the wheel playfully. “Well dang. Ya know, the guy is from the same neighborhood as me. He inspired me to start drivin’ professionally… even if it is just a taxi.”

In posing myself nonchalantly against the window, the mixture of the erratic driving and the overall speed of the craft made my stomach begin to feel funny. “Well, I imagine you’re doing well for yourself regardless.”

The driver went on for a little while about the driver and a bit of the race, all of which turned to word soup in my ears. To be honest, I knew nothing about the race at all, except for the fact that racers and their teams needed insurance to compete and that I didn’t want to be late.

I couldn’t help but notice some of the streets lacking the fervent sky traffic as the rest of the skies of Vallas Fax. Blocking said streets were massive lighted banners in checkerboard patterns. “The race is through the city, is that what it is?”

“Eh? Where were you thinking? Around a docking yard?” The driver chuckled loudly, slapping his hand against his thigh. “Just pulling your thlax. Lookie here, this is your destination down here. The convention hall, you said?”

“That’s it.”

I glanced at the meter as he landed, reading off a credit amount that was more than what I had spent on myself during my last vacation. As I scanned my tablet on his payment terminal I couldn’t help but ask. “You wouldn’t happen to know some of those dock workers back at the port, would you?”

“Oh yeah, good lads they are.” He said, waving me out. “Have a fun time here, little miss.”

I smiled and nodded as he drifted off, making a mental note for myself. Make sure to put that little bill on a reimbursement form. My attention didn’t remain there long, however, as the crowds outside the convention hall, ravenous for racing and betting and overpriced food, were ready to turn me into paste. Moving billboards advertising the race, the drivers, their vehicles, and the various sponsors created a stream of unabsorbable fanfare. Among the visual chaos, my eyes landed on a plainly printed sign reading ‘race staff entrance’ above one of the sets of doors.

I readied myself with all the relevant information from my tablet before approaching the front booth with a caffeinated-looking attendant. “Welcome, where are you headed to today?”

“Hi,” I said, glancing at the tablet one last time. “I’m with Cycles Go ‘Round insurance. I was hoping you could guide me to Flatsin Ouht’s garage.”

“Oh, Cycles Go ‘Round?” She repeated with wavering certainty.

“You know, for the racer’s insurance?”

“Oh, no, of course. I just had some deja-vu, another person from your company stopped by a little bit earlier for them. I guess the more the merrier, huh?”

“Right…”

She nodded and blinked at me. “Down this hall, to the left, and the third big door on the right.”

“Thank you,” I said nodding, wondering why and how someone else from the company would be there. When I reached the foretold door down the hall, I knocked, interrupting what sounded to be a stand-up show in action, audience cackling and all. The silence endured for a few moments before the door was answered.

“You are?” The burly, spotted woman looked me up and down.

“I’m… or I was here to discuss your insurance for the race, but…”

“Anna!” The loud voice was unmistakable. The tall, pale man crept up behind the door-answerer. “I beg you, let her in. She’s with the company.”

“In you go, then.”

The door was shut after me. I had met the man a few times during my early orientation back in one of the hub offices and was well aware of his comportment. I came to know him originally as the person who trained my own trainer back in the day, someone who was certainly a trusted senior in Cycles Go ‘Round. “Zack Gacklin! Fancy meeting you here. Is… there a reason for you to be here, though?”

“Well, the same reason you are, eh?” He was wearing a fitted sport coat and slacks, ones that would have easily gotten wrinkled or worse if they were stored in a ship like mine.

“I mean, Zack,” one of the racing crew members, dressed in one of a collection of matching jumpsuits, spoke up. “You’ve already set us up with everything, at least from what it sounds like. Of course, if you don’t have anywhere to be, you can watch from the service deck. It’s no VIP seating, but—“

“Excuse me,” I raised a hand, glaring into Zach’s eyes. “Before we get too far, I need to talk a little inside business with my… coworker here.”

“Oh— sure.”

“Lead the way, Anna.”

I walked out into the hall, turning back only once Zack had closed the door behind us. “You didn’t do what I think you have,” I said in a hushed tone.

“I’m sorry, Anna,” Zach said, rubbing the back of his smooth head. “I didn’t think it would be you coming this way.”

“Oh, because if it were someone else, you wouldn’t feel bad?”

Zack blinked slowly and rolled his shoulders. “Listen, I’m sorry, but what’s done is done.”

I stuck a finger into his chest. “I bet you saw the big commission and came running.”

“Hey, when all this is said and done, I can take you out for dinner and drinks to make up for it.”

“I don’t care about the commission money,” I paced back. “And no, regardless of how we handle this, I won’t let you take me out. Hah, I bet you think I’m a cheap date, too. No, this was supposed to be my first proper step in climbing the corporate ladder. Getting the company recognized as a sponsor in a big event like this. Get my name out there.”

Zach feigned concern. “Oh, yes, I mean, of course, get them to give you a ship that’s slightly larger than a shoe box.”

I stomped and flung my finger his way. “You know damn right that’s at the top of my needs right now!”

Zack shrugged. “I was there once.”

“Yeah, which is why you don’t need this.”

The tall man shrugged and looked at his shoes. “Dunno what to tell you, the deal’s already done. But hey, you’re here in a spot like this. We should…”

The hall door was jerked open by the hands of an excited race crew member. “Zack man! You just about wrapped up? I found the clip of the crash from last season’s race!”

“Sick, my man.” Zack fired finger guns back to the doorway. “Just one moment.”

“No, we’re done here,” I said, packing my tablet under my arm. “Have fun watching the race. Don’t spend all that commission on a corndog.”

“Anna, come on.” Zack seemed determined to appear as remorseful as possible but I refused to give him more attention.

Passing the front desk, I could only think of one thing; paying for another expensive taxi, one that couldn’t be reimbursed because, after all, what work was I actually doing? I tried to look for such a taxi but the airspace in front of the convention hall had been jammed up, locals and tourists alike, awaiting a massive barge-craft perpendicular to the flow of traffic. It was backed up to a delivery entrance at the far end of the building, seeming to not make any progress in what it was doing.

Having nothing better to do, I crept up, listening to the commotion. “You can’t take my racer! Man, get that out of here!”

Someone bearing the logo of the Vallas Fax Grand Prix on their clothes was lined up with a couple of police officers, shoving a writhing racer from a ship, strapped down to a tow platform. “Jexen, you know the rules, no insurance, no race. The city wouldn’t allow it. I’m sorry that your guys went out of business. You had a full off-season to figure it out!”

“Yeah, that’s garbage and you know it.” The racer stomped. “I can still make some calls! The race isn’t for two days!”

I hurried myself to the edge of the crowd. “Excuse me. I just so happen to know someone who might be able to provide the insurance!”

The racing official glanced back with a scoff. “You crazy, broad? Insurance doesn’t just grow on trees.”

I fumbled with my tablet and revealed the home screen bearing the logo for my company. The official leaned in with a squint before plodding my way to fully take it in. “Cycles Go ‘Round? Where’ve I heard that?”

I pushed myself up past the onlookers and the police officers to look the racer up and down. “Another racer is on our company’s policy.”

“No double-dipping, Terran girl,” the official huffed with crossed arms. “You can’t just work for multiple teams. That’s a conflict of interest.”

“I understand that,” I explained promptly. “No, you see that other team under our name was signed on by a greedy coworker of mine. That has since left me essentially wasting my time here. Or I thought, until I noticed this nice young man in dire straits. My hands are at the ready for co-signing any agreement and hopefully taking a place above that other team.”

The racer, Jexen, was younger, with wide, bright eyes, tanned skin, gentle curls, and hints of ridges around the sides of his face. He grinned, standing against the side of his semi-impounded racer, and rubbed at his chin. “That solves that problem, Glubbs. Unless you have other reasons I can’t race this season?”

The official huffed and shrugged. “Don’t do it, girl. You wanna know the reason the last company that insured him went down? There was a big crash last year, a lot of property damage. This guy behind the controls. They had to fork out big time. Went insolvent not long after.”

Jexen clapped his hands. “At least you lot got video replays for cycles after that! And I… walked away, so there’s that, too. That’s the thing you lot worry the most about, eh?”

I caught sight of the racer’s determined and excited eyes locked to me, making me realize it was too late to suddenly change my mind. “Well, Jexen… was it? You shall be covered by Cycles Go ‘Round this year. I hope you will wear our company name well.”

“Hot Scuff!” The young man jumped and clapped, shouting at the police and towing company. “You hear that, guffbaggers! Get my ride down from here so we can get it ready for the line!”

The racing ship was towed back on casters to the mostly empty garage. The space looked more like a dorm room than a place where any work got done. The workbenches were covered with empty bags of food and brew bottles instead of tools. Instead of team flags on the walls, there were pictures of females and vistas of different, distant planets, and finally, a folding bed in the corner, plastered with unfolded clothes.

“Did your… crew go home, assuming that you were going to have to drop out of the race?”

“Eh?” Jexen glanced back from his racer, his hands still rubbing away at the metal panels, checking for any damage done by the tow crew. “Ah, sometimes my friends come by. They might help out tune things up, mostly just drinking, shootin’ the shixx though. Dude’s probably… sleeping off last night’s fun still.”

I shoved a stool near the workbench, pushing away the bitter-smelling bottles to make room for me to work. “Ah, well, work hard and play hard, I’ve heard that sort of lifestyle called.”

Jexen chuckled, glancing at himself in the reflection of the windshield. “And to wrap it up, we’re gonna win hard.”

I turned on my tablet and pulled up the forms I had downloaded to it. “Well, I ask that we get down to it so I can get these forms submitted to the officials. First off, I need the name of your sponsors.”

“Sponsor, sponsor,” the racer sauntered my way, talking as if the word were brand new to him.

“The ones who give you money to keep this whole thing running for you. Including paying our deducting fee upfront to jump-start your protection. Perhaps someone else handled this for you in the past?”

“Ah, well, it’s mostly me,” he said, glancing down the necks of several abandoned bottles, assumedly looking for any remaining dregs. “Sponsor, yeah. The cash has gotta come from somewhere, you know it. I just call him ‘pops’.”

I stared at the form, wondering how I would ever bring it to completion the way things were going. “Can I assume that means he’s… your father?”

“Well, duh. He says he’s happy givin’ me the money to keep racing so I’m not out on the streets wasting my time with other stuff.”

“And what other stuff would you be doing?”

Jexen stood with his arms to his hips in a triumphant pose. “Probably still driving fast, trickin’ in the no-fly areas, running away from the police. I was one little mishap away from probably losing my license, you know? But accidentally thrashing something in a race? That’s no big deal, the other racers know what they’ve signed up for.”

I slid myself sideways on the stool. “Well, that’s also what us insurance providers sign up for. I might kick myself for asking this, but you want to tell me what happened last year?”

“I was gonna win!” He whined, back suddenly slumped and feet plodding heavily across the floor. “But I got bumped off the course on one of the last corners. Got flung into the grandstands. I managed to save myself… and my adoring fans… and just crack open one of the advertising blimps floating way up in the sky. People got out of there before it crashed down, didn’t stop the lot of them getting pissed off though. The city, the advertiser, and several people from the crowd wanted to sue.”

“Uh, yeah, pretty insane. And unfortunate. So… we can insure your craft and any wear and damage to it, even damage you cause to other racers, but outside damages like that can definitely exceed the terms of the policy. The official said your previous company went out of business because of that, though. How did any of the lawsuits stick?”

Jexen shrugged. “You’d have to ask the people who work for my pops. I think they said that their terms weren’t clear enough. A loophole, thingy? They insured me, so they had to cover every little bit of damage. Guess they ran out of money trying to make things right.”

“Ah, the lawyers of the rich and powerful…”

“Huh? What’s that gotta do with anythin’?”

“Never mind.” I sighed, reminding myself of the forms. “Well, just don’t crash again this year. I suppose I will need your father’s… or whoever’s… contact information to get these things in motion.”

“I’ll tell ya’ now, my pops never talks to me directly, but he has this nice secretary who tells me what he wants me to know. Now where’s her number at?”

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